


Wingspan

by kj_graham



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Jessica Moore is incredible, Nonbinary Sam Winchester, Other, Sam Winchester Wears Makeup, Stanford Era (Supernatural), ends where the pilot ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kj_graham/pseuds/kj_graham
Summary: They’re in Jess’s room, studying for that week’s biology exam, when she finally asks Sam one of the questions they’ve been dreading.Jess is sprawled on her stomach on the floor, poring over her battered textbook. She keeps chewing on the end of her pen, and Sam thinks it’s adorable.Sam is sitting up, leaning back against the leg of Jess’s bed. They’re flipping through their notebook, foot tapping mindlessly.And then Jess speaks, and Sam’s heart rabbits right up into their throat.“Have you ever thought about wearing makeup, Sam?”
Relationships: Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Wingspan

Sam thinks they probably give off the wrong impression a lot. They don’t stare at some of the girls in their classes to be creepy, or weird. They don’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable. They just like admiring the lipstick some of the girls wear, the neat dark lines of eyeliner, the sparkly eyeshadow.

They’d probably never wear makeup themselves, Sam knows. Too much controversy, too much risk. Even in a place like Stanford, like California, it’s never guaranteed that Sam’s identity will be accepted.

Hell, they never even came out to Dean or their dad before they left. Not that it matters, now; they’re gone, they’re out, but sometimes Sam wonders what life could have been like if they had a supportive family around them.

Something they’ll just see in their dreams, in the daydreams that dance behind their eyelids if they allow it. Sam just has to make peace that they’ll have to hide away for the rest of their life.

For their first few months at Stanford, Sam is so focused on their studies that they don’t really make many friends. They have their roommate, a slightly shrewd-looking guy named Brady, and the girl down the hall from them, but other than that Sam doesn’t have anyone.

The girl, though…her name is Jessica Moore, her hair is blonde and tumbling with curls, and her eyes are always slightly shimmery with eyeshadow. She’s the most beautiful girl Sam has ever seen.

Jess hangs out with them a lot. They have the same general biology class, so they study together every week, on Wednesday evenings in the back of the library. Jess always gets them both lattes and chocolate chip muffins.

Jess is amazing. She’s wicked smart, funny, sassy. She’s everything Sam once wished they could be. They’ve always been shy, but they find excuses on those Wednesday nights to lean just a bit closer. They try to be witty, always chasing Jess’s infectious laughter.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to them when they finally have the lightbulb moment, walking back from the library on a chilly October night with their arm brushing Jess’s shoulder, that they actually _l_ _ike_ her. Like, like her a _lot_. Somehow, though, this realization is enough to make them feel like they’re one of the overworked school-issue computers.

They stop speaking practically mid-sentence.

Jess tilts her head up at them, eyebrows pulling in concern. The streetlights they pass under make the pink gloss on her lips shine; Sam wants to kiss it, wants to wear it, wants to be cramped in Jess’s tiny bathroom together, leaning into the dingy mirror and dusting powder over their cheekbones.

“Are you okay?” Jess asks.

Sam nods. “I’m okay, yeah. Just remembered something I have to do tonight.”

Jess doesn’t look like she quite believes them, but her face settles into a smile. “Okay.”

Sam smiles back, wondering what Jess’s lipgloss would feel like layered over their lips, and keeps walking toward their dorms.

* * *

They’re in Jess’s room, studying for that week’s biology exam, when she finally asks Sam one of the questions they’ve been dreading.

Jess is sprawled on her stomach on the floor, poring over her battered textbook. She keeps chewing on the end of her pen, and Sam thinks it’s adorable.

Sam is sitting up, leaning back against the leg of Jess’s bed. They’re flipping through their notebook, foot tapping mindlessly.

And then Jess speaks, and Sam’s heart rabbits right up into their throat.

“Have you ever thought about wearing makeup, Sam?”

Sam drops their notebook and stares at her for a long moment. Too long. Their mind is swarming with too many thoughts; that Jess is judging them. That Jess is about to ambush them, alone in her dorm room, with what she really thinks of them. That Sam has somehow been found out, and she hates them for it. She’s going to say she’s disgusted, she can’t accept them, it’s wrong, something is _wrong_ with Sam, and Sam will sit here and take it all because they can’t move, can’t fathom the woman they love so much saying such things.

“Why do you ask?” They force out. Their voice is hoarse, mouth and throat gone dry with nerves. Sam’s palms start to sweat, making the paper under their hands curl.

Jess shrugs. She looks so casual, like this is no big deal to her, and Sam thinks they might be sick. “I see how you look at me and some of the other girls wearing it, sometimes. Like you’re curious or something. I…”

_This is it_ , Sam thinks. _I’m going to lose her now. She’s going to tell me every thing I have ever told myself, and it will be so much worse coming out of her mouth._

Jess bites her lip. “I guess…I mean, we’re the only ones here, so I guess I just thought that if you _did_ want to try wearing it, I could help you put it on?”

Sam gapes at her. They can’t have heard her right.

“You..you don’t think it’s weird? If-if I want to?”

“Weird?” Jess frowns and tilts her head. “No. I hate calling other people weird. If it’s you, if it’s who you are, then it can’t be weird.”

Sam swallows. Their throat is suddenly tight with emotion, and Jess must see it in their face, because she gets up and comes over, settling down next to them. She takes one of Sam’s shaking hands into her own.

“But I’m not…Jess…”

Jess strokes her thumb over their knuckles. She lets them collect their thoughts.

“Even if you didn’t think a-a guy wearing makeup was weird, I’m not…I’m not a _guy_ , exactly.”

“Okay,” Jess says quietly. “Do you…how do you identify, then?”

Sam shrugs. “I’m just…me. I guess if I ever think about, like, pronouns, I prefer they and them, but. I’m just _me_.”

Jess smiles at them. She lifts a hand to the back of their neck, her fingers soft and warm against their skin, and guides them so that their foreheads are touching.

“Thank you for trusting me with who you are,” she whispers. “You’re amazing. You…you’re one of my closest friends. You mean a lot to me.”

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told,” Sam whispers back. “I couldn’t ever trust anyone else. You mean…you mean a lot to me, too.”

Jess’s finger stroke over the back of their neck, her touch light. They stay like that for a moment, eyes shut and foreheads pressed together, and then Jess pulls away slowly.

“So, Sam,” she says quietly. “Do you want to try makeup tonight?”

“Yes,” Sam whispers, nodding eagerly. They’re starting to get excited about this. “Yes, please. If you’re okay with it.”

“Of course,” Jess says, getting up and moving over to her desk. “I’m actually excited about it. It’ll be kinda nice to get to teach someone else how to do it.”

Sam smiles at her a little shyly. They watch her pull out a small blue tote from a desk drawer and set it down on her desk.

“Come over here,” she says. “It’ll be easier here than on the floor, and I have a mirror for us to use.”

Sam sets their notebook aside and moves to her desk, sitting down in her chair. Jess is leaning against the edge of her desk, pulling things out of the tote and laying them out. Brushes, pots of colored powders, flat little boxes. Sam is intrigued by it all.

“I don’t think I have the right foundation to use on you,” Jess says, looking between her supplies and Sam. “Your skin is paler than mine. But we should be able to do this without any foundation.”

Sam asks her what foundation is, and Jess laughs a little. She beams as she answers them, and that’s how it goes.

Jess explains what she’s doing as she does it. They start with blush, light pink powder spread across brush bristles. Jess asks Sam to smile, leans in close, twirls the brush in circles over the apples of their cheeks. Sam’s ears go red.

“You’re going to look amazing,” Jess says, dusting bronzer over the edges of Sam’s face, framing their temples and the curves of their cheekbones. “Especially when we do your eyes. You have _really_ good eyelashes.”

“Thanks,” Sam says softly, feeling a little bashful. Jess keeps leaning into their space to apply makeup to their face, and Sam’s overwhelmed by the way her hair smells good. It looks so soft. They want to run their fingers through it.

“Eyeliner and mascara can feel a little weird to put on,” Jess warns. “Especially mascara. It ends up being worth it, though.”

Sam drinks in every word she says. They watch her pick up a slim black tube and twist off the top, pulling out a tiny brush shimmering with inky black liquid.

“Eyeliner first,” she says. “Close your eyes, Sam.”

Sam shuts their eyes, almost completely at ease with the exception of their pounding heart at Jess’s proximity. Jess leans in, a steady, vibrant presence even though Sam’s eyes are closed, and starts applying eyeliner.

She’s right. It is a weird feeling; almost cold, the papery skin of their eyelids sensitive to every stroke of the tiny brush. Jess’s hand feels steady, though, and Sam doesn’t think she falters at all as she paints a line onto the edge of their left eye before moving to their right.

When she pulls away, Sam doesn’t open their eyes. There is something so intimate about this, so warm and accepting, that makes them want to bask in it and never let it go.

There’s a clattering noise. “I flipped the mirror down,” Jess explains. “Figure it’ll be nice if you’re surprised.”

Sam hums in response. They open their eyes when Jess asks them to, look up and down and all around as she teases at their eyelashes with a mascara brush. It’s more unpleasant than the eyeliner; Sam keeps thinking they’re going to get poked in the eye, but they never do.

“What color eyeshadow do you want to wear?” Jess asks, flipping open a palette.

Sam looks over all the colors. They hadn’t realized there were so many. Golds, black and grey, white, pinks and purples…their eyes stick on a shimmery light purple shade, and they point to it. “That purple.”

Jess smiles. “That’ll look really nice. It’ll make your eyes pop.”

Sam watches her swipe a tiny brush through the powder. They have to close their eyes again, and Jess gently rests a hand on their chin and tilts their face up a little. Sam melts into the touch.

After the eyeshadow, Jess offers him a variety of lipsticks and lip glosses. They had always thought they’d want to wear something shiny, something pink or red, but they see one tube of lipstick that’s just…almost skin color, but a bit darker than theirs, and they’re drawn to it.

They have their eyes open for this one. Jess opens the tube, holds their chin in one hand, and paints their lips with the dark nude tone, and Sam watches her. The dorm light doesn’t do the shine in her hair justice, but her eyes are just as bright as they’ve always been. Sam lets themselves get lost in them, taking the rare opportunity to admire her eyes while she isn’t looking at them.

Of all of the makeup she’s put on them, the lipstick by far feels the most intimate. The brush dragging sticky over their lips, Jess standing so close to them…it makes Sam ache. They would never expect Jess to like them that way, but they wish that she would; that they could lay with her and stroke her hair, or have date nights with takeout and bad old movies.

“There,” Jess says, pulling back. “Rub your lips together, like this. Yeah, perfect.”

Sam looks at her. She has an almost unreadable expression.

“Sam…you look really good. Like, really good. I think you look better than me when I wear makeup.”

Sam laughs a little, a slightly nervous, pitched tone in it, and they get lost in the look in Jess’s eyes. They can almost fall themselves into thinking Jess thinks they’re beautiful.

“I’m serious,” Jess says, grabbing the mirror. “See for yourself.”

Sam does. They barely recognize their own face in the mirror. They don’t look like any of the girls Sam has seen, but they no longer look like the person they’ve been yearning to leave behind for so long, either. They look like something different, something new.

“Sam?” Jess asks softly when they don’t say anything for a long moment. “Are you okay? Is it okay?”

“It’s great,” Sam murmurs, completely enraptured. “I…I really like it. Thank you.”

Jess beams. “Good. If you want, I can teach you how to put it on yourself? We can go get you makeup of your own?”

Sam almost kisses her. They don’t, they never would without knowing where they stood with each other, but they want to. Jess is just…this perfectly imperfect, selfless woman that Sam so deeply admires. They think that Jess is the woman they’d want to marry, someday.

Jess just smiles at them, absolutely at ease, and affectionately scrubs a hand through their hair. Sam smiles back and wishes to stay here forever.

* * *

A few weeks before they get together, Sam starts going by Icarus, instead. It’s something of a clean slate; they can cut all ties, that way. There’s nothing connecting them to a lifetime of anger and strife and blood and grief. They can clear the marionette strings from their joints and really _live_ , here, with Jess, learning how to apply makeup and feeling safe and accepted.

Jess calls them their chosen name immediately when they tell her. She doesn’t even ask why, just compliments it. After that, she never calls them _Sam_ again.

Icarus is fitting. They too, feel like they’ve flown too close to the sun, the skin on their back melting like wax under an onslaught of bad decisions. They know, even now, that they’re just asking to be burnt, to be alit anew with flickering fire. Perhaps it’s all very pretentious; they don’t really care that much.

A couple of Fridays later, Jess shows up on their dorm room threshold holding a bouquet of wildflowers, all dressed up and smiling nervously. Icarus is in awe, and then she actually asks them out to dinner, and they’re sure they’ve gone to Heaven, somehow.

They are inseparable, after that, and all too soon May rolls around and the end of their freshmen year. Jess wakes them up with slow, sweet kisses, stroking their hair, and then whispers that she has a surprise.

Icarus climbs into her car, hunches into the passenger seat, and asks her where they’re going.

“It’s a surprise,” Jess says. “You’ll see.”

They nod, rest a hand lightly on Jess’s knee, and then just enjoy the ride.

As soon as Jess pulls into the parking lot, though, they turn to stare at her, slack-jawed. “You’re not serious.”

“It’s your birthday, Ic,” Jess says easily. “I gotta spoil my baby.”

Icarus blushes. They get out of the car, still wondering how Jess is really so good to them as to do this, and follow her into the beauty store.

“I know you have some makeup,” she explains as they enter. “But it’s all cheaper stuff. I thought it might be nice to get you some of the good stuff.”

“I love you,” Icarus blurts, absolutely bursting at the seams with adoration and gratefulness.

“I love you too,” Jess says, ears red, and leans up to kiss their jaw. It’s the first time they’ve said _I love you._

Jess guides them through the aisles. She grabs their hand and they test shades of lipstick, foundation, eyeshadow. Their hand looks like an adventure in finger painting by the time they’re done. Icarus feels like they’re on cloud nine.

“Jess,” they say as they wait in line. “I can pay for some of it. I know it’s a lot.”

“Nope,” Jess says immediately. “It’s your birthday, this is my present for you. You’re not paying a dime.”

Icarus chews at their bottom lip. They think of scrounging for pennies and shoplifting food. “It’s so expensive, Jessie…”

“I’ve been saving for it, Ic,” Jess answers, still completely at ease. “Relax. I _want_ to do this for you. I want to spend this money on you.”

“Okay,” Icarus says after a moment, sighing. “Okay. Thank you. It…really, this means a lot.”

She reaches for their hand and squeezes. “I know. I’m happy to do it for you.”

Jess has one more present for them. She gives it to them once they get back to the dorm. It’s wrapped in tissue paper, slightly sloppy. Icarus loves it anyway.

It’s a tote bag, like the one Jess keeps her own makeup in. It’s quilted and lumpy, like it’s been homemade.

“You know how I’ve been learning how to sew?” Jess asks, and her voice is quiet, and slightly shy. “I gave bag making a shot.”

Icarus looks up at her. “You made this? Jess, this is amazing!”

Jess smiles. “You like it?”

Icarus turns the bag around in their hands, the fabric soft under their fingers. The zipper is slightly crooked, and the handles are oddly thick, but Icarus wouldn’t have it any other way. “I love it.”

“Good,” Jess says. “I would have hated to have to kick your ass for being rude if you didn’t.”

They smile at the teasing tone in her voice and lean in for a kiss. Jess rests a hand on the nape of their neck and climbs into their lap, and Icarus is glad they’re alone in her dorm room for the weekend.

* * *

Over the next three years, Icarus becomes something of a master at makeup. They move in with Jess, ace their classes, feel more and more like they’re actually turning into someone that they're proud to be. They’re just starting to think about getting a ring when Dean shows up and the velveteen veneer over their life is rudely ripped away.

Only for a few days, Icarus reasons. One hunt. One last job. One last time they have to hear “Sam” and “Sammy” and “brother,” none of which really apply to them anymore. 

They come back to Jess happy to be done, pleased to return to the life they’ve always wanted and can never believe they’re actually getting. They lay onto their bed with a cookie in their mouth, thinking already of what their wedding will be like, of all the little details of how they plan to propose.

Then there’s blood, and fire, and Dean dragging them out of the room, and things are never the same again.

Icarus fades. It’s just Sam, back to the mask they’ve been wearing almost all their life. No more law school, no more love of their life, no more fearlessly being who they are.

They had packed their makeup bag before that one last hunt. It had been instinct, or habit, maybe. Maybe both. Whatever it was, at night, when Dean was asleep, they would take out the imperfectly sewn makeup bag and hold it to their chest, trying not to get tears on the fabric.

Things would never be the same again, but they’d hold onto this one remnant of the life they could have had until death forced them to do it part. Maybe they’d get to be Icarus again someday. Maybe in Heaven.

They started praying to Jess every night, just for a way to talk to her, and never stopped.


End file.
